


Cracks in the Ice

by papa_death



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9250763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papa_death/pseuds/papa_death
Summary: In all his life, Desmond Curtis hadn't let a single person slip through the cracks. He was there to focus on himself and the ice, not a man such as that.But he was so alone here. He had left everyone behind to follow his dreams, and the isolation was slowly changing him.Though he'd never admit it, Desmond craved what the man made him feel, even if it meant letting him in.





	1. No Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> In my most recent attempt to return to fanfiction, I have decided I would start with one of my favorite animes. 
> 
> I will attempt to get out updates as much as possible.
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated. I always enjoy comments, especially if they are constructive.

He wasn't sure when he had climbed underneath the cool bedsheets, his toes just barely peeking out over the edge. The watch he had carelessly tossed onto the chair chimed with each hour that passed, but he was unaware of how long he had avoided sleep.

It had nothing to do with dreams. If anything, what he saw behind closed eyelids was the only thing he enjoyed when he allowed himself to drift off. 

It was knowing that he would wake up disappointed like he always did. 

Since coming here, Desmond Curtis had encountered more competition than he had at home. The ones here were determined and professional, having the money to afford luxurious costumes and experienced, hardworking coaches. At least at home, he had a bit of a chance.

He was lucky if his coach even showed up to practice. Most of the time, he was alone to skate, forcing himself to see outside of his own body to check for his mistakes. It was a problem, and he was starting to see how it was affecting him. He stumbled too often, rotated a bit much, and he rarely landed a jump more than once.

The bed seemed to protest as Desmond rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, ignoring the constant pinging of his phone. He knew many others were wide awake, except they were out with friends and enjoying their private time before it was consumed by practice and competitions.

What time was it anyways?

Too warm, he shoved off the thick quilts and jumped up, frustrated with himself. He had done nothing but mope after the excitement had worn off, and he knew it did nothing but break him out even worse. If his acne wasn't already bad enough when he came here, it was even worse because of the stress that swallowed him up. 

Not only was he alone here, but he wasn't exactly the most approachable. 

Even if he didn't show it, Desmond craved that friendship all the other figure skaters had. So many of them had found new friends within the other competitors. That much he knew from the constant barrage of shots taken by national monuments and restaurants he was too poor to afford.

And he was alone. If he wasn't practicing, he was hidden away in his hotel room--the only thing he could enjoy thanks to his coach paying for it. 

God, it was pathetic that he couldn't even buy himself decent food. He'd never tell his family that, though. His mothers would be on the first flight over there to spend what little they had on him.

"'Don't worry, Desmond. You're a nice boy, and people like nice boys.' Yeah, thanks, mom. People like boys with money and free time." He shuffled into the bathroom and glanced at the mirror, sighing when he saw that his roots were slowly crawling through his dyed hair. It wouldn't be such a big deal if his natural hair wasn't an obnoxious shade of red, one of the many things he gained from his father.

That was something else he had left behind. Since coming here, he couldn't even risk spending the money to fix his hair, and the only person he trusted to come near him with bleach was back in America.

He really was alone here.

 

The lobby was more awake than he believed it would be. With a small bag hanging over his shoulder, Desmond had decided he would sneak out before anyone else came down from their rooms.

However, his lack of focus on time had ruined his plan. Staring at the many competitors that mingled around the space, he wondered if he should just go back upstairs and wait until later.

It wouldn't be the first time that he skated at night.

As he was backing towards the elevator, a hand firmly gripped his shoulder. Desmond jerked back and snapped his head towards his unexpected companion, panic twisting his gut.

Viktor Nikiforov. Holy shit.

"I do not believe we've met!" He said, a wide smile stretched the length of his face.

Desmond slipped free from his hand and managed an awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel the intense heat that billowed off his body, and he wanted nothing more than to run up to his room. Not only had his plan to sneak out failed, but he had somehow bumped into one of the greatest figure skaters known to the world.

"I-I...uhm, I'm Desmond Curtis," he muttered. He felt glued to his spot, Viktor's steel blue eyes staring him down.

The Russian gave him a curious look as he tilted his head, his forehead wrinkled with concentration. Before Desmond could react, Viktor was smiling wide once more and nodding his head, excitement bubbling up inside him.

"Oh! You're the one from the video that my Yuuri sent me! Quite impressive!"

The color drained from Desmond's face as more people seemed to take notice of Viktor, walking over to them. He wanted to shrink away, but it was much too late. Heart pounding, he had to watch as they crowded around him, their voices booming.

He recognized Jean-Jacques Leroy, recalling his dramatic and energetic performance at previous competitions. JJ was a man of pride and confidence, and his style mirrored that perfectly.

Though his arrogance was off-putting, JJ could back it up with his programs. That much was impressive.

Desmond glanced past him and stared into the growing crowd. He saw a few others that he didn't know, and he told himself not to worry about them. 

Easier said than done.

However, that changed the second he saw Christophe Giacometti. His world faded away to nothing as his eyes remained on the tall man, the tangled web of voices melting away to nothing. Never had he imagined he would be in the same room as Chris, and it was too much for him to handle.

His stomach was in knots, and he struggled to calm the rapid pounding of his hearts. Turning on his heels, Desmond ducked behind Viktor in an attempt to relax.

This wasn't happening. No, this was some hallucination, and he was going to wake up in his hotel room. When he did, he would laugh at himself because he dreamt of the man who he was enamored with for years.

But it was happening, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.

"Oh, it's that guy from the video! The one who nearly sliced his hand open trying to lift his leg above his head!" JJ said, his mouth curled into a smirk. He was staring at Desmond, and the brief moment of joy he had felt at Viktor's compliment went away.

Without thinking, Desmond shoved past JJ, knocking the cup he had in his hand. Something warm spilled onto the floor and stained the lush carpet, a slew of curses falling from JJ's lips. Head down, he rushed by everyone, jostling some things away from their hands. He felt his shoulder slam into someone's chest, and he muttered a quick apology, his vision blurring with tears.

He had wanted to forget that part of the video, but his younger brother had taped it, putting it on the Internet before Desmond could do a damn thing about it.

Maybe being alone was for the best.

 

The ice rink was empty, and he was grateful for the time alone. After this morning's events, he knew he had to be more careful when leaving the hotel. 

It didn't take long for him to realize he had left his skates behind at the hotel, and a defeated groan fell from his lips. Sinking down onto the bench, he fell back and glared at the rafters.

This had to be a sign. His mom was always talking about signs, especially on bad days like this. Of course, his step-mom would just laugh off her wife's foreboding advice and ruffle his hair, telling him not to worry.

Maybe he should listen to his mom. The world was clearly telling him to go home and abandon all his hopes, and he was considering doing just that.

"Hello?"

Desmond sat up, not expecting to hear such a deep voice. As he mulled over who it could belong to, he noticed a pair of shoes step into his line of sight.

Oh, good Lord. 

Chris wandered into the rink, a pair of tattered and stained skates hanging from his hand. Desmond could only imagine what he thought as he carried them over to the bench, especially with how dull the blades looked.

It was a wonder how Desmond managed to end up here without taking a couple trips to the hospital.

"You forgot these in the lobby after you ran off." Chris smiled, but it was much different from Viktor's. His was warmer, more flirtatious, and Desmond felt his heart thud against his chest.

And it was that moment he realized Chris had been the person he bumped into.

"God, I hit you, didn't I? I'm so sorry, Chris!" He said as he took the skates from the man. "And thank you."

Desmond noticed the slight tilt of Chris's head, strands of his blond hair sweeping across his tan forehead. His beautifully green eyes were hooded, long lashes kissing his cheeks when he blinked.

"Where's your coach?" 

He let out a deep breath and shrugged, not sure as to where the older woman had wandered off to. Unlike all the other coaches here, his was more concerned with the publicity that came with being famous. Not like Desmond was famous enough to have paparazzi following him everywhere.

He wasn't exactly Viktor. God, he would be stretching it to claim he belonged here. At least, that was what his coach said when they were alone together.

"I watched the video everyone is talking about," Chris said, and Desmond groaned.

He wouldn't be able to escape that video. At this point, everyone here had seen it, and they refused to let him forget it.

"And?"


	2. Helping Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help wasn't something Desmond asked for, but that didn't mean others weren't willing to give it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos! It means a lot, especially with how long it's been since I've written something like this.
> 
> College starts up next week, so it may take a bit long for more uploads. I will do everything I can to get out more chapters.
> 
> Once again, thank you.

His feet throbbing, Desmond sluggishly crawled into the shower, yearning for the hot water to crawl over his skin. The tiles were cool as he peeled off his clothes, letting them flutter to the ground. He almost didn't feel the water at first, its heated touch soothing the aches in his shoulders.

As he stood there, his mind began to wander, thinking back to the ice rink. Had that really been only a few hours ago? It felt like such a dream, yet he knew it wasn't.

"The video isn't as bad as everyone says. If anything, it showed your potential."

Potential. Desmond hated that word from the moment he heard it being thrown around by his elementary school teachers. His mothers would go on about how much potential he had, and all he needed to do was apply it to something great.

"Doubt you meant using it for something like this, mom," he muttered as he shoved a hand through his hair. 

He felt the cool tiles against his forehead, his knees weak. He half-considered leaving his hair soaking wet and filled with shampoo just so he could drag his sore body under the bedsheets.

"Oh, Desmond! Sweetheart, where are you?"

Good God.

Tense once more, he furiously scrubbed out the shampoo, knowing his hair would be a tangled mess by the time it dried. He nearly slipped on the tub as he climbed out, twisting a towel around his hips. It was loose, and he briefly wished he was back home, his mom's cooking filling him up.

It had been a while since he had had an actual meal, and it was beginning to show.

He dreaded opening the bathroom door, knowing his coach would be waiting on the other side. Judging by the sickening stench of floral perfume that permeated the air, she wasn't alone either. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he threw open the door and stepped out, recognizing the face of her hairdresser.

Now, Desmond didn't hate his coach. If anything, she reminded him of his older sister. They shared the loud and outstanding personalities, their voices carrying across even the largest of open spaces. She was a familiar stranger in his life here, and he wanted nothing more than to keep her with him.

It was the matter of how she handled being his coach that frustrated him the most. She coddled him when they were together, treating him more like a son than a student, and she often refused to come to practice. He was beginning to wonder why she had agreed to be his coach, especially when she expressed such distaste at the title.

"Desmond, I don't know if you remember Amelia, my hairdresser?" She said, placing a firm hand on the young woman's shoulder. They were both smiling, and he noticed just how polished Amelia looked.

Like a doll wrapped up in a pristine uniform.

 

He wasn't so sure how he had been convinced to take a seat, hands buried in his hair. Amelia slathered his tangled locks in a strong bleach mixture, stripping every bit of color he had left.

His eyes stung as he kept his head titled back, a towel around his neck. 

"So, Desmond," Amelia said, the slightest accent swirled around her words. "How have you been?"

He managed a weak shrug, not wanting to open his mouth. With the bleach twisting in her intense perfume, he was shocked he hadn't passed put yet.

"Have anyone you've been spending time with?"

There was a flash behind his closed eyes, a face that made his cheeks warm and his heart skip.

Why had he thought of Chris? They'd talked all of thirty minutes before they parted ways, Desmond taking the ice to practice.

"Oh, Desmond has been spending all his time at the ice rink. No time for anyone special, right?" His coach teased.

"Well, that's a shame. He is really handsome. I bet he'd make a girl as happy as a kid in a candy store."

The air shifted, and Desmond felt his stomach sink. He pulled away from the chair, rising on unsteady feet, and he stumbled into the bathroom.

"Desmond? Did I say something wrong?" There was a pause, a series of hushed whispers exchanged between both women. He watched as Amelia's eyes widened, her cheeks a bright shade of pink. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Desmond! I...I shouldn't have assumed!"

He waved her off, flipping on the kitchen sink. "Please, go. I'm sore, and I'm tired. I'm sick of smelling bleach, and I just want to be alone. Thank you for trying, Amelia, and have a nice rest of your day."

Defeated, his coach took the girl by the hand, helping her pack up the stuff she had brought. When he finally heard the click of the door, Desmond went to work cleaning his hair for the second time that night, permanently destroying one of the towels his mother had thrown in with his clothes. 

He lifted his head and stared at the mirror, frowning at the person staring back at him. Though he had hated the way his hair looked, the overly bleached look didn't suit his brown skin.

"God, I look like a pepperoni pizza with too much cheese," he mumbled. "Just what I need."

The click of heels drew his attention away from the mirror as his coach stepped into the bathroom. She was smiling, a sad look in her eyes.

"Amelia didn't know, sweetheart."

"I know she didn't know, Hanna. I'm frustrated with everything else. Every freaking person here has seen that damn video. I'm just some joke. How am I supposed to be a serious competitor when they all treat me like I'm...some little boy playing adult?" Desmond nervously chewed on the inside of his cheek as he slumped against the sink, pushing back his hair. 

Sighing softly, Hanna reached for his hands and moved forward, kissing his forehead. She smelled of cinnamon and vanilla, and he relaxed, the scent reminding him of home. Her strong arms curled around his body as she brought him close, smothering him in her ample chest.

"I've failed you, haven't I?" Her words were gentle, a kiss of warmth against Desmond's skin. "God, I've been ignoring what you needed most. I haven't been here to help you during practice, and all I've done is dress you up to look pretty on camera."

He chuckled as she released him, her hands planted firmly on his shoulders. Though she was a kind-hearted soul, Hanna had the strength of a warrior in her body, her arms wrapped in muscle, and that was something she made sure others knew.

"How about I take you shopping? Get some new clothes, some skates? I know you need them. Oh, and some food. You're starting to look a little...skeletal there, Desmond."

 

It was almost midnight when Desmond finally got to join his bed, the thick quilt curled around his body. He was stuffed with food, a new pile of clothes tucked into the corner of his room. He had been afraid of what the receipt read, but Hanna hadn't allowed him to even take a look at what she had spent.

She wanted her to enjoy this, especially after she had spent the entire ride to the shops apologizing to him. 

Of course, he wasn't about to decline the idea of a new pair of skates.

His cellphone pinged, and he considered ignoring it until morning. After a moment, he snatched it off the table and flipped through his notifications. Many of them were nothing important, but there was one that caught his attention.

Unknown number: hey, it's Chris. Got your # from Phichit... Was gonna ask if you wanted breakfast? at 8?

Making sure he wasn't seeing things, Desmond rubbed at his eyes and stared at the bright screen. No, he wasn't delusional.

Christophe was actually asking him to breakfast.

Des: uh sure, sounds great

His hands were shaking, his palms damp, and he couldn't help but smile. He was quick to change the contact number just as another notification popped up.

Chris: meet in the lobby?

Making sure everything was set, Desmond plugged up his phone and dropped onto the mattress, the quilt pulled up to his chin. A giddy smile stretched to his ears as he stared at the ceiling.

For the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to the morning.

 

"So, you're from America? How's life over there?"

Desmond smiled as he leaned back in his chair, fiddling with his napkin. "Well, it's pretty normal, I guess. I have two moms who are the absolute best. Oh, and a huge family. Six brothers and sisters! It can be crazy, but it's nice."

Chris watched the stars that shined in Desmond's eyes as he spoke of his family, his hands moving around with each person he described.

It was one of the few times he had seemed so relaxed, and the sight was something Chris tucked away in his thoughts. He didn't want to forget it for as long as he lived.

They had come here not long ago, taking a seat by the window. Snow dusted the world outside as a gentle chill took over the air, causing the both of them to bundle up in thick jackets and fluffy scarves.

"I forgot to mention that I like your new look," Chris said.

He watched the warmth that darkened his cheeks as he twisted a bleached strand around his finger, not meeting Chris's adoring gaze.

"Not exactly planned, but thanks. I'm still getting used to it."

They shared a laugh that twisted together, dancing around their heads, and Chris almost didn't notice the few people taking pictures of them. Some were giggling being their phones while others watched with admiration and shock. It would be all over social media before they left the restaurant, and he found that he didn't care.

"So, what are you planning for your short program?" Chris asked. He had his chin in his hand, smiling as if the world was bright and shining all around him.

He watched the way Desmond's expression changed, his confidence fading away.

"God, I don't even know yet. I have music my little brother made me, but nothing else," Desmond said, his face covered by his hands. "And the music is just...not my style. I think my brother did that on purpose, though."

Intrigued, Chris leaved forward and pulled the boy's hands away from his face. Desmond awkwardly smiled and sunk further down in his seat, picking at the threads in his shirt.

"It's...super sexual. Like, it's the kind of stuff you hear in a club. I don't even know why he thought I'd be able to create something for it."

For a moment, nothing was said between them. Hiding behind his bleached hair, Desmond refused to look at anything but the table. 

"I could help you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I always welcome any advice or criticism you may have, so comment if you feel like you want to.
> 
> See you at the next upload.


	3. Needing Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was something keeping Desmond from reaching his true potential, but it's much harder to break through his walls.
> 
> But Chris is ready to do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and support! I'm not sure if I'll create a steady schedule when it comes to uploading, especially with college starting up next week. I'm so glad people are liking this story, and it definitely helps me pus on with it.
> 
> Also, if there are any mistakes, I apologize.

The screen was paused on a thumbnail of a man, his body hunched forward and drenched in sweat. For a moment, Desmond considered closing out his tabs, but this was something he needed to do. Seated by the window, he was aware of the midnight sky as he pressed play, a muffled beat flowing through his headphones.

The man was young, considered a boy by most, and he was in desperate need of a haircut. The curly strands flowed down his back, untouched by bleach and dye. Even then, his face was speckled with acne, but it wasn't near as bad as it was now. The darkness of his skin had disguised most of it, something that had faded once he moved to a much colder place.

When he had clicked on the video, he had expected to see a clumsy and awkward mess. Instead, he saw excitement.

There was a shine to the man's eyes, a joy that made his heart swell. Thinking back, he didn't recall the happiness skating had brought him, but this video had captured it perfectly.

He nearly choked on the breath he had been holding as he watched the man land on shaky feet. It wouldn't pass at a real competition, but there was pride in his movements, a desire to be better.

Anxiously chewing on his nail, Desmond let his eyes follow each turn and twist, and he tensed when the man leaped off the ice once more. It was agonizing to watch him fly through the air before his blades touched the glass surface.

There was a jolt and a skip, but he landed it well enough. As the song came to an end, Desmond watched the man lifted his leg, the rough blade so close to slicing his hand open. One wrong move, and there would be blood all over the ice.

_"Oh, it's that guy from the video! The one who nearly sliced his hand open trying to lift his leg above his head!"_

He scoffed and finally closed the video, letting his head fall back until it hit the chair. The headphones were pulled from his ears, and they slid down to his neck, silent.

"Fuck you, JJ. You act like you've never messed up in a program," he muttered.

At the end of that practice, Desmond had been proud of what he had accomplished. He hadn't cared about his brother filming it until he had a barrage of people messaging him about it. He hadn't expected it to get so popular, especially with how little everyone knew about him.

The video could've disappeared if he hadn't come here and put himself with some of the greatest players in the game.

His phone buzzed in his hand, and he sat up, smiling at the icon on his screen. Clicking the video button, he let himself relax when he saw his grinning mother.

"Ah, there is my handsome boy. You look exhausted. Are you getting enough sleep? Is Hanna working you too hard? What happened to your hair? I mean, it looks much better than before, but I thought you wouldn't let anyone but Heba touch it?" She questioned, her hands clasped together in her lap. 

If Desmond remembered correctly, it had to be early where she was, and his younger siblings were at school. He missed walking them to the bus, and he wondered how they were doing in their classes.

He looked back at her, and his heart skipped. There was a glow to his mother that he had forgotten, and seeing calmed his buzzing nerves.

"I'm alright, mom. I'm getting enough sleep, and this hair was not my idea. Hanna brought in a hairdresser friend, and they basically forced me into the chair," he said. Something in him tensed at the lie of his sleep schedule, but he didn't want to worry her. "How is everyone?"

She launched into telling him all about the family. Her hands danced as she spoke passionately about her wife, explaining about how they had gone on a wonderful weekend in the mountains together. She mentioned that his older brother, Bryson, had married that "sweet, sweet boy with a heart of gold."

"Oh, your poor sister. Junie has been struggling lately when it comes to a relationship," his mother said as she shook her head, tucking back a strand of her silky hair.

"What about that one guy? The business man. What was his name?" Desmond drifted off as his mother went on another rant about her eldest daughter's failing relationships, only half-hearing her concerns about him.

"Des?"

He lifted his head and yawned, noticing her curious gaze. "Yeah?"

"Have you met anyone?"

The color drained from his face, and he chuckled softly, shrugging his shoulders.

"No one is interested in me, mom. Besides, I'm too busy for a relationship."

She flashed a crooked grin that told Desmond she hadn't believed a single word. No matter how much he tried, she would always know.

"Well, sweet boy, I must go. I wanted to check up on you and make sure you were taking care of yourself. Please, sleep. I love you. We all do. Emilia and K.J. miss having you around, but they love that you're following your dreams. Tara is being as rambunctious as ever, but she misses you, too. "

His cheeks warmed as he nodded. "I love you, too, mom. All of you. Tell everyone that I miss them."

He felt an ache when the video disappeared, and he fell back, sighing softly. The world around him was still, the outside ambience ignored.

 

Hands were gripping his hips, keeping him rooted in place. Desmond stood still as Chris struggled to push off the stiffness in his bones. Since arriving here, Desmond had felt nothing but tension, and having his biggest crush so close didn't help.

"You need to relax, or you'll never portray the feelings you want to," Chris purred, his voice like warm chocolate. It was so easy for him to exude confidence and sex appeal, almost as if it were second nature.

"That's not so easy," he muttered, and his handsome companion chuckled.

"Well, what makes you feel sexy?"

Desmond felt his blood run cold as he pushed away from Chris, brushing his hands through the mop of hair on top of his head. He noticed the peculiar look the taller man gave him, and his stomach flopped.

"I don't ever feel sexy, Chris. It's just not my thing, and I've been okay with that until my brother decided to make the music for my program."

Tilting his head, Chris stared down at Desmond, sensing his growing discomfort. He was closing himself off from the world, his skinny arms curling around his body in the form of a hug. There was something in his eyes, an ache of a lingering pain that he refused to speak about.

"There's something else keeping you from achieving this, isn't there?" Chris asked, a frown pulling at the corners of his lips. He pushed forward, gliding over the ice until he could reach for Desmond. His slender fingers just barely touched the sleeve of the boy's shirt before Desmond darted away, tripping over his skates.

He hit the ice hard, his palms flat against the shiny surface. His body shook as he slowly twisted around, yanking off the demons surrounding his feet. They scraped across the ground, skidding to a stop in front of Chris, and Desmond rushed to his feet.

There was a panicked look in his eyes as he stared at Chris, gnawing on his bottom lip. Tears slid down his freckled cheeks, falling like broken pieces of glass.

"I...I shouldn't have thrown the skates. I'm sorry. Please, don't get m-mad," he said, visibly shaking.

Oh.

Chris approached the terrified boy, his heart cracking at the sight before him. He had never seen someone so scared, and the image would imprint itself in his mind. Not wanting to frighten Desmond, he moved at a slow pace until he could reach out and touch him.

"I'm not mad, Desmond. Why would I be mad?" He whispered.

"I-I'm not d-doing what you want. I'm j-just giving up."

A sigh fell from Chris's lips, and he shook his head. "I didn't expect you to get this on the first try. Desmond, what's going on?"

There was a rush of air, a scampering of feet. He heard the double doors slam shut as Desmond ran out, leaving behind his new skates and his bag. Defeated, Chris stared at where he had been standing, his mind a tangled web of questions.

 

It was nearly eleven when the knocking started. Torn away from her pleasant dreams, Hanna climbed out of her bed and slid her freezing feet into a pair of tattered slippers. The air had taken a vicious chill during the night, and she quickly stuffed her body into a thick robe. Shuffling down the hall, she listened to the knocking, wondering who thought it was polite to come at such an hour. 

She stepped over the mess blankets and pillows surrounding the couch, the remnants of her grandchildren. They had been there not long ago, filling her house with a vibrancy it lacked.

Standing tall, she peered through the peep hole and frowned.

Why was Christophe Giacometti outside her house?

She yanked open the door and crossed her arms. "I hope you know what time it is, boy."

He offered a quick apology, trembling beneath the cold.

"Get your ass in here. I won't be responsible for a famous skater freezing to death."

Chris stumbled past her, furiously rubbing his numb hands together. She saw no sign of a car, and she turned to look at him, curious. Before she could get a word in, he was facing her, breathing hard. 

There was sweat smeared across his forehead as he stood in the living room, and it didn't take much for her to realize he had sprinted here. His eyes were wild and dazed, a hint of concern in them.

"I need you to tell me what happened to Desmond."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate the feedback, and I want to thank anyone who supports this story!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, I enjoy feedback. Please, tell me any suggestions or other ideas you may have.


End file.
